CHALLENGE: What Lies Within Prompt 1
by LizzieMorewolfe
Summary: He knows the story behind each scar, the pain, the fear and the triumph that goes with them. He knows how proud she is of these marks, yet why is suddenly so ashamed of those long pale white slivers that mark her skin?


**So this is what came out of Prompt #1 of LeaderoftheOutcasts' challenge. Might be OOC but I'd like to think that she can be vulnerable too.**

Contrary to popular belief, the two assassins for hire are not friends/partners with benefits. After having to use her sexuality as a tool in interrogating or disarming men, she doesn't feel comfortable with just blatantly engaging in activities related to that on a whim. When they do finally sleep together, it is after they've snuck out of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base to get married. (Coulson, Fury and Hill are, of course, ignorant. And they were actually talking about how pissed off Fury would be and how Phil would probably faint just thinking about the paperwork involved)

So here they are spending their honeymoon curled up in bed in their huge plantation house in Mississippi. Night sounds are coming in from the open window and the ceiling fan is doing little to cool the humid evening. Clint is tracing patterns on her leg and Tasha is humming one of the Russian love songs her father used to croon at her mother. She's musing on the evolution of their partnership and is still shocked at how frighteningly at ease she was with being vulnerable with Clint.

His mind is just as agreeably occupied, filled with the lingering sound of her laughter from when they had a water fight out back to relieve themselves of the heat. He still can't believe that she finally agreed to be his wife. His wife. He can't help but smile every time he thinks of that. _Natasha is my wife. She's mine now and I am hers. _

His thoughts continue on in that vein for a while and he keeps silent, not wanting to break the calming lull that has settled over them. That is until his fingers brush over some scars on her inner thighs. His fingers halt in their ministrations as he pauses to catalogue these. He has never encountered them before and that says a lot. After all, he has been patching her up for ten years now and he's pretty sure he knows every scar that she's gotten from missions. A frown mars his once relaxed features as he ponders on the source of the scars.

"Tash?" He feels her tense and her humming ceases.

"Yeah? What's wrong, Clint?" Confusion and worry are palpable in her voice.

"Where did these scars come from?" He was tracing them ever so gently as he asked. He was jolted when she quickly withdrew her legs and tucked them.

"Nowhere important." She has an air of nonchalance about her as she says it but he sees through it and he knows that she's lying.

"Tasha, you and I know that you can't hide anything from me. What's so horrible about these scars that you would be scared enough to hide them?"

"I'm not scared!" Her eyes flashed dangerously but there was a vulnerability in them, a fear in them that made his heart lurch.

"Tash, don't shut me out. Nothing between us, remember? Let share the scars with you." He can see her resolve slowly falling, falling until it has crumbled completely and she takes a deep breath as if to steel herself before she begins.

"Ididthosetomyself," She mumbles it, too quickly for him to catch,

"What?"

"I-I did those to myself." He stares at her blankly for a few minutes unable to comprehend her hesitant confession.

"Why?" He finally manages to croak out, horrified at what she had just said. "Why would you want to hurt yourself?"

"Because!" And just like that the final wall has crumbled down. "Everyone tells me I'm beautiful or-or sexy or hot. The Red Room taught me to take advantage of this, to use it to get what I needed or wanted. And it did work. Women flirted with me. Men drooled at my feet. But take away my appearance, take away the red hair, the lips, my form, my waist, my chest, my eyes and what am I? Am I still beautiful? Or am I just another girl? pathetic, weak, worthless. I wanted to just mar the beauty, to see ugliness on me. I wanted to know if I would still be beautiful with it.

"And the pain, it was good to feel again. To not be just another soldier blindly following the commands. It felt good to be able to hurt, and not just be numb all the time. Once I started I couldn't stop. It was addicting and it made me feel powerful. And every time I took down those men with my thigh choke all I could think of was how I was showing them just how wrong their perception of me was. I was marred and I wasn't just some coldblooded whore of an assassin."

She's crying now and almost as soon as she finishes, she collapses into herself, exhausted and empty. He envelops her in his arms, crushing her with the force of his embrace.

"Don't ever think that way again. You are beautiful, and not just physically. In fact, you're the most beautiful when your not all made up. I love how you look when we've just finished training and your pouting or smirking triumphantly. You're hair frizzes and your clothes are sweat drenched and you're simply you and absolutely stunning then. And when you let down your guard and choose to be vulnerable and affectionate, you become utterly bewitching and my words would never be able to capture just how much beauty I see in these moments. And I don't know how you can't seem to see that."

"You really think I'm beautiful?" She's said it so many times, during so many ops that the words should have been meaningless by now, a lie to lure the victim in. But there's a sense of desperation in it and a yearning for the answer to be a sincere yet that he has not doubt just how honest this question is.

"Yes." The answer's brief but a huge weight has been lifted off of her and she's smiling again. She doesn't know how to thank him for this, how to show him just how blessed she feels to know that someone sees that in her, that HE sees that in her so she kisses him, tenderly, pouring all she wants to say into it.

When they pull away, his hand cups her chin and tilts her head so he can look into her eyes.

"Promise me you'll never ever do that again. And I'll promise you that you'll never have to doubt yourself."

"I promise." With that, he tugs on her legs and places feather light kisses on each scar. And slowly but surely that broken girl hidden deep within that beautiful yet deadly woman became broken no more.


End file.
